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The first (and only) time Minho cried over the apocalypse was when it started.
He didn’t cry when the air became so dense people couldn’t breathe. He didn’t cry when their entire world dried out in front of his eyes, or when water became a luxury instead of a basic right. He didn’t cry because it happened slowly– everyone expected it because the new toxic element was profitable and governments are greedy.
But the fire showers weren’t slow. They didn’t take months to progress– they were fast and lethal and burning and it didn’t take even a second until the biggest climate protest had turned into the biggest bloodbath known to mankind, it didn’t take long until his skin scorched in the midst of all the yelling and the chaos and it took only a few minutes for Seungmin to be ripped from his grasp– it was within an eyeblink that he had lost his mother until she was merely bone and flames.
The start of the apocalypse; the day the sky burned brighter than the sun. The only time Minho allowed himself to shed tears over it.
Then, he had gotten up to find his best friend and had promised himself he would never cry over what happened again.
The sky hasn’t changed much since then, anyway. He’s at the opening of their tent at sunset, the heat lessening as the sun descends. Not like it’s ever really cool anyway– just cold enough that you don’t immediately get third degree burns every time you step outside.
The ground is still smoldering from the fire shower, dry enough that almost the entire area was affected– safe for their tent. They’re lucky Chan was thoughtful enough to set it up at one of the last swampy areas that had kept the earth wet enough to protect them.
They’re lucky enough for Chan in general. If it wasn’t for his amazing craftsmanship, they wouldn’t have their fire resistant tent cover.
“Min?”
He startles out of his thoughts at Seungmin’s voice, whirling around to face him.
“Why are you up?” He murmurs, frowning at how Seungmin was shivering. He should go back to bed, he needs all the rest he could get.
Seungmin shrugs meekly. “Got worried about you. Why are you up?”
Minho swallows. He knows why he’s asking– but he also knows they both know the answer.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He avoids his eyes when he says it.
Seungmin’s quiet for a long time. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “Showers?”
He nods. It’s not as sure and as strong as he’d like.
He doesn’t speak when he’s hugged, just wraps his arms around the younger like they’ve always done; being quietly there for each other, because words weren’t needed for how well they understood the other.
“You should go back to resting.” He whispers, pulling away and noting how pale Seungmin looks from up close. His brown hair is ruffled from sleep, and almost unconsciously Minho reaches up to fix it.
He’s still shivering, and his skin feels ice cold to the touch despite the hot weather. The red blood cell disease he contracted at the start is progressing further.
“I don’t need sleep.” He swallows, sliding down to squeeze Minho’s bicep. “I need water, Min.”
“I know.” He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t let his voice waver, doesn’t let Seungmin see how worried he is. “But we’re getting closer to east– we’ll find water tomorrow, okay?”
Seungmin nods, slumping against Minho for a second and breathing heavily. “We’re close, right?”
“I think so, yeah. Chan said it might be another week.”
A week until The True Men. A week until medicine and shelter. A week until Seungmin could possibly get a cure.
He wraps his arms tighter around him, walking towards the end of the tent. “Let’s get you some food.”
Seungmin doesn’t say anything, only clings to Minho and hums.
Minho prays that they get to east fast enough.
_____
It’s nightfall by the time they allow themselves some rest. It’s hard to breathe, it feels like he’s filling his lungs with heat instead of air.
Minho wishes it would rain. He also knows it won’t.
“Do you think the true men are actually real?”
His eyes flit up to the boy sitting in front of him. Chan and Seungmin were asleep, so he’s alone with Hyunjin. Hyunjin was a nice kid– a bit younger than him and Chan, someone they’d rescued from human traffickers. His hair was buzzed and short, eyes curious and a face sharp enough to make you answer every question they asked.
“What do you mean?”
Hyunjin shrugs, nibbling on his piece of food thoughtfully. “I mean… they’re mostly a legend, no? There’s rumors of a group with medicine and aid, but no one knows. ”
Minho swallows the bile rising in his throat. “Of course they’re real. It’s a group of people, not aliens, Hyunjin.”
“Still. We don’t know if they have what we’re looking for, Min.”
Minho clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. “They have to have it.”
Hyunjin looks pitying, and Minho hates it. He doesn’t fucking want pity, he wants Hyunjin not to drive him insane with these questions that are making him nauseous.
“But there’s no cure for the red pearl. It immobilizes red blood cells– not something you can treat. It’s not the virus itself that’s harmful, it’s the way it sabotages your entire blood transport system.”
“I know that!” He’s nearly shouting with frustration now. Doesn’t Hyunjin know that he knows?! That he sees how Seungmin’s skin is losing its color everyday, how he’s coughing and shivering and fucking sick?
Hyunjin doesn’t react much to his outburst, only sighs and leans over to put a hand on Minho’s knee. When they make eye contact again, Minho doesn’t see pity, but compassion. Seungmin means a lot to Hyunjin, too.
“I know you know, Minho.” He murmurs. Minho doesn’t cry, only swallows the lump in his throat. “I know how much he means to you and how worried you are.”
He doesn’t cry. He grips Hyunjin’s hand with his until it cramps, but he doesn’t shed a single tear. “Then you know I need the true men to have a cure.”
Hyunjin nods his head. Once again, it’s compassion; but this time it's accompanied by a frown.
“I know. I’m just trying to say… with his current condition, we might need to consider alternatives.”
Minho feels sick. He can feel his dinner come back up, so he only bids a quick goodnight before disappearing back into their tent, stumbling to the sleeping bags in the back. Consider alternatives. What alternatives are there in these conditions to consider?!
He narrowly avoids stepping on Chan and before he knows it, his feet lead him to Seungmin’s side almost on instinct. He crouches down next to his pillow, and allows himself to fret for a few seconds.
(It’s all bullshit, countless people have said the true men have saved them– why wouldn’t they be able to help Seungmin?! He needs to get Hyunjin’s words out of his head.)
Besides, Seungmin has plenty of time. He’s fine. He’s sleeping beside Minho, his chest is going up and down in a calm rhythm. He’s breathing and he’s alive and fine.
(His skin is almost like a sheet.)
He’s fine.
(Minho watches how his chest hitches– two in, barely one out, a cough, repeat.)
He’s fine.
(He’s still shivering. The temperature must be in the thirties and he’s dehydrated and yet Seungmin is shivering. )
He’s fine!
“I can hear your gears turning from here, you know?” Seungmin’s sleepy voice shakes him out of his stupor, and he blinks his eyes a couple times before his teasing smirk is fully into view.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” He doesn’t respond to the call out, instead scooting closer to put the back of his hand against Seungmin’s forehead.
It’s not anything intimate or special. They’ve known each other since kindergarten, and Minho is just naturally always protective over Seungmin. It doesn’t have to mean anything– it doesn’t mean anything.
Except Seungmin reaches up and links their hands. Minho tries to ignore how his body starts tingling.
“No, just woke up by myself.” He answers back, yawning a bit. “Were you out with Hyunjin?”
Minho nods, not really knowing what to say.
Seungmin scoots a bit closer, and– now his head is on Minho’s chest. Right. Now they’re cuddling. Right. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” Seungmin mumbles, eyes already slipping shut again.
It doesn’t mean anything. Why would Seungmin like him as anything more than a friend?
“Always.” He barely squeezes out, body stock still.
Seungmin hums happily. Then, he’s out like a light.
Minho stays awake for a while. Hyunjin comes back to the tent and dares to raise his eyebrows. When he goes to lay next to Chan, he can hear both of them snicker.
Minho flips them both off, before sleep eventually cages him in her arms as well and he sinks into the mattress with Seungmin in his hold.
____
The sun is unbearable in the mornings. The heat is dry and the air is dense, and going outside without coverings is impossible– which just adds to how hot it is. The only small mercy Minho gets out of the scorching sun is how quickly it warms their food.
“We should stop in the afternoon.” Chan remarks, coming to help him clean after their breakfast. “It feels like it’s even hotter today– we won’t be able to stand the temperature.”
“What about east?” Minho asks worriedly. “We gotta get there as fast as possible."
“It won’t help anyone if we burn before getting there.”
He knows Chan is right, being the eldest of the group. Despite having met him when he was trying to steal Minho’s food rations, since becoming their friend the raven haired boy has done nothing but lead and care for them. Still, anxiety fills him at having to wait even longer for their destination.
He merely nods. Chan throws him an apologetic look, but Minho ignores it. They clean mostly in silence and keep the opening of the tent firmly shut, blinds drawn to avoid sunlight and to not wake the other two still sleeping in the back.
“You and Seungmin looked awfully cozy last night.” Chan’s tone is light, teasing. Minho still drops the bowl he’s holding.
“Because he wasn’t breathing well!” He defends, quickly bending down to grab it– not to hide his flaming cheeks. Definitely not.
“He hasn’t breathed well all week and yet you slept in your own bed.”
“I was just worried!”
“And you weren’t worried all the other times?”
Minho turns around to throw him a dry scowl, but it doesn’t deter Chan’s grin. “What exactly are you trying to say ?”
Chan shrugs. “Nothing, just… it’s the end of the world, and you still won’t confess your feelings for your best friend.”
“There are no feelings to confess!” He hisses, throwing his arms in ridicule.
Chan raises an eyebrow and looks at him as if Minho is a petulant child. Minho is not a petulant child. He’s just fighting misinformation right now.
“What do you gain from lying to yourself?”
“ I’m not lying! ”
Chan actually snorts. Minho debates throwing the bowl at his head, but then remembers he’s the only one who knows the way to east, and controls himself.
“Min, I’m not gonna meddle–” as if he’s not meddling right now. “–but this is the apocalypse. You have nothing to lose by confessing. You clearly like him a lot.”
Minho shakes his head, stubborn as the day he was born. “It doesn’t matter if I like him or not. Seungmin is sick– he needs someone to take care of him, not a lover.”
Chan raises that one singular eyebrow again. He knows the way to east. He’s the only one who knows. Minho can’t use the bowl.
“Did you ever think that maybe he needs both? And he needs it to be you?”
Minho turns back to Chan with a sigh. “Why do you care whether I confess or not?”
Chan’s gaze turns softer. “Because I care about both of you. I think it would be helpful if you were honest– to both of you.”
Minho swallows, tucks his hands inside his pockets awkwardly. “What if it wasn’t? What if it messes everything up?”
Chan puts the last remnants of their breakfast away, and in passing pats him on the shoulder. “I think you’re exactly what he needs right now– you just need to give it to him.”
Then, he leaves, and Minho is left with only Chan’s words swirling inside his head like a bottled up storm has been let loose.
___
It’s been a few days, and Chan’s words are still bouncing around in his head. They repeat as if on a broken record– He needs both, and he needs it to be you– and blend in with his own hidden away desires, until he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore.
They’ve been travelling uninterrupted. The temperature is still too dangerous, but Seungmin doesn’t have much time.
Seungmin doesn’t admit it, of course. He’s been resilient as long as Minho has known him, but he sees the confusion in his eyes as the illness starts affecting areas of his brain. He’s having trouble recognizing his surroundings, and often struggles to recall things that were easy for him to remember at first.
Minho doesn’t cry. He just holds him as tight as he can at night, and always keeps an eye on him in the mornings.
It’s the afternoon again. Things are hot, so he gives up on his quest to look for more food, and finds his way back inside the tent.
Seungmin is lying on a mat. His eyes are closed, hands folded over his stomach peacefully. He’s still shaking, but there’s a tranquility around him that he’s hesitating to disturb.
“Back so soon?”
Minho sits next to him, eyes flitting over the slope of his nose. “Too hot outside.”
He hums. “Come lay with me.”
Minho does as he’s told, laying where he scoots over to make space for him.
“How are you feeling today?” He whispers in the stillness.
He doesn’t get a verbal response. Seungmin links their fingers together, and squeezes four times. A system they came up with years ago– once for good, twice for meh, thrice for bad, but four times isn’t in the system. Minho turns to him, confused.
“It means good when I’m with you.” He responds, still with his eyes closed.
Minho’s heart doesn’t stutter. It doesn’t.
The air is different today. Seungmin is still sick, but… he seems more at peace than he has in days. He doesn’t let go of his hand, and only rubs small patterns into his skin.
“What’s the one thing you really want right now?”
He frowns. “What?”
“If you could have any moment, anyone, or anyone right now– what would it be and why?”
“Why are you asking?”
Seungmin shrugs. When he looks at him again, there’s a playful smile on his face. “Just answer.”
Minho swallows, mulling it over for a moment.
“My garage.” He finally murmurs. “You, me, my garage, and a guitar. I want to sing with you again like we did when we were kids.”
Seungmin’s ministrations stop. He’s quiet, and then,
“I’d like that too.” He answers, quiet enough that they’re the only ones who hear.
When Minho turns to look at him, Seungmin is already staring back. They’re so close.
“What do you want most?” He whispers. His eyes flit over Seungmin’s face, landing on his lips.
His smile is soft. Seungmin has a pretty smile.
He curls closer until his head is nestled on Minho’s chest, and doesn’t say a word. It’s fine– Minho thinks he’s too breathless for another conversation anyway.
They sit like that for hours. He holds Seungmin while he starts coughing, rubs his back through the shivers, and grabs a blanket when his skin gets clammy.
He holds him, because it feels like he can’t do anything else, anymore.
__
They’re almost there.
They’re finally almost reaching east.
The mountains they have to get on are so close Minho can see them in the distance. If he pretends hard enough, he could practically graze them with his fingertips.
It’s been another day of endless travel, and the sun is finally setting. Chan said they’ll reach the true men by midnight.
They’re close. But Seungmin’s illness is closer.
He’s been coughing all day— his body is shutting down. He can’t stand on his own for prolonged periods anymore.
Minho opens the flap of the tent quietly to see the other boy laying down once again, but this time there’s no peaceful aura; he’s breathing shallowly and his limbs are shaking, his eyes are squeezed as tight as his fists. He’s in pain, and a lot of it too.
“Minnie?” He whispers, swallowing past the lump in his throat. It’s a nickname he hasn’t used in years for him.
A small smile shows itself on Seungmin’s face, peeking one eye open. He doesn’t say anything until Minho is by his side.
“You haven’t called me that in a while.” His hand comes up with difficulty, resting on Minho’s knee.
He’s quiet. He laces their fingers together, his heart heavy.
“Can you hold me, Min?”
Minho nods. His chest constricts when he gathers Seungmin in his arms and realizes how bad he’s shaking, wrapping his arms around him securely.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” The words feel like poison as they pass his lips, but he has to say it.
Seungmin smiles again, his eyes like little crescent moons. “You did all that you could.”
Minho shakes his head. He brings a hand up to wipe away Seungmin’s bangs. He’s so, so beautiful.
The silence they sit in isn’t like last week’s; it’s not peaceful or light, it feels heavy and wrong, like they were never supposed to end up like this. Even the last sun rays aren’t enough to erase the impending doom that’s choking him.
“Do you remember last week?” Seungmin asks, so quiet Minho has to bow over him to hear. “When you asked me what I wanted most?”
He gulps, and nods.
Seungmin closes his eyes again. He snuggles into Minho, and steals his breath with his next words.
“This.” He murmurs, the words hidden in Minho’s neck. “Being held by you exactly like this– I want you the most.”
Minho blinks– he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t cry, he only blinks, he only breathes in shakily and holds Seungmin tighter, presses him against his chest and brings their heads closer. He doesn’t cry, but maybe if he tried hard enough he could absorb Seungmin’s sickness, somehow.
“I’m sorry,” He apologizes again, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry it took me so long– I want you too. Fuck, I want you so bad.”
A little laugh escapes Seungmin’s lips. It’s the prettiest sound Minho’s ever heard.
“You got there eventually.” He whispers, fingers directing Minho’s chin until their mouths can meet.
A shaky sigh escapes his lips once they’re finally kissing. It feels like he’s being reborn, he feels alive – Seungmin’s touch is electrifying as Minho cups his face with one hand, the other one firm on his waist. This is everything he’s wanted for years, and now that he finally has it he takes and takes, kissing Seungmin like a starving man who’s been granted a feast. It’s exhilarating .
It’s magnifying, freeing, until it isn’t– until the illusion of love is broken by Seungmin pulling away to cough violently, a tremor wracking his entire body.
It feels as if his heart plummets back from the cloud he was just on, shattering on the dry ground at the reminder that Seungmin is still deathly ill; at the reminder of the world they live in.
His breath is shaky. The lumps in his throat keep getting bigger as he chokes out, “I wish we had more time. I’m sorry– I should’ve taken care of you better–”
“No.” Seungmin interrupts, a fist clenched in Minho’s shirt tightly. “You did everything, Minho. It’s not your fault I’m sick.”
“I wish we had more time. I wish everything was different .” Minho repeats, voice breaking on the last syllable.
“Me, too.”
His eyes start drooping, as if it takes too much energy to keep them open. Minho doesn’t know which one of them is shaking harder at this point.
“Hey, Minho?” Seungmin softly calls, grabbing the hand on his cheek to hold.
“Yeah?”
Seungmin smiles weakly. “I love you.”
Minho’s chest caves in. The sob that leaves him is still dry as he presses Seungmin impossibly closer. “I love you too. I love you. I’ll love you no matter what.”
Seungmin nuzzles his head in his chest. He squeezes their joint hands, and presses a kiss against Minho’s sternum. “Thank you for this lifetime of memories, Minho.” He whispers, forcing the words out despite how hard it’s getting to talk.
Minho quivers. His throat is tight as he kisses Seungmin, trying to pour every feeling he’s ever had into it; he whispers everything he’s always wanted to say and holds him as tight as humanly possible and tries to make up for all their wasted time.
He tries and tries, until Seungmin stops responding.
The sun sets. Shadows encase Minho as he holds the limp body of the man he’s always loved. The hand clenched in his shirt falls to the floor, and Minho bows his head with trembling shoulders.
For the first time since the apocalypse started, Minho cries.
_